We ended up cooking up some hotdogs, and heating up some leftover sides. Mick and the kids could eat hotdogs for the rest of their lives and as long as chocolate milk was available, they probably wouldn't complain, but we don't have hotdogs that often so in a weird way, it was a treat of a dinner, despite being a last-minute thing.
CAM finished first. Two hot dogs, but no buns and no sides. WHM was a slowpoke, but he was eating. CAM, who wanted dessert, waited, and waited, and waited .... annnnnd waaaaaiiiitttteeeeddddd ...
And finally, she looked at WHM, and in the sweetest voice possible, asked, "WHM, would you like me to help you eat your potatoes for you, Bubba?"
Mick and I had to hold our mouths to prevent ourselves from laughing out loud. She wouldn't eat so much as a bite of her own potatoes, but if eating WHM's meant getting to dessert even a second sooner -- well, by golly, she was eating some stinkin' potatoes! (And yes, we call WHM "Bubba" all the time. No idea why, but somewhere along the way we started, and it stuck.)